


pick-me-up

by murdork



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Pre-Canon, Slight Canon Divergence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-15
Updated: 2017-02-15
Packaged: 2018-09-24 16:15:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9769934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/murdork/pseuds/murdork
Summary: Two times Archie picks Jughead up and the one time it's vice-versa





	

**Author's Note:**

> 1) this was supposed 2 be a 5-and-1 but my dedication is nonexistent
> 
> 2) this is like.. before canon n during
> 
> 3) thank u for ur kind words on my last fic!!!

It's August and Archie can't sleep. He'd kicked off all his blankets hours ago and the heat still traps him. His window is open, but there's a distinct lack of a breeze. It sort of feels like a punishment, karma or something. He probably deserves it.

He definitely deserves it.

School's fast approaching and it's never really bothered him before but he can't help but feel that this year's gonna be different. Maybe because Jason Blossom's body still hasn't been found, maybe because for once he has a shot of actually playing in a football game instead of being benched all season.

Maybe because this might be the year he doesn't have Jughead by his side. No, not might. Definitely.

He turns over again, trying to ignore the roiling in his stomach. He looks out the window. Betty's light is off and has been awhile. Besides, there's no way he's risking upsetting her mom by traipsing over this late. He worries, sometimes, about Betty. He worries about a lot of things.

He thinks about texting Ms Grundy, but that only makes his stomach feel worse. It's weird, and complicated, and he can't tell anyone. Even if he could, who would he tell? Not Betty, that's for sure. Or his dad. And without them all that's left is- or was- Jughead.

His chest hurts. He hasn't written too many songs with lyrics he's proud of yet, and he's not actually that great with words, but if he had to describe it he would say it feels a bit like there's a hole in his chest that Jughead used to fill. And without him there it feels a bit like he's caving in on himself. For some reason this unsettles him. Like that's something he's not supposed to think about his friend. But it's not like he and Jughead have ever been that conventional. At least, Jughead hasn't.

His phone rings then, breaking up his thoughts. It's a familiar number but not one he can place exactly.

"Hello?"

"Hello? Archie, is this you?" Pop Tate's voice replies.

He rubs a hand over his eyes, chasing away any exhaustion that may have snuck up on him. "Uh, yeah. Why?"

"Look, kid, I know it's late-" and it is, it's almost past two, "but would you mind coming down here and picking your friend up?"

There's only one person it could be, but he asks anyways. "My friend?"

"Jughead. Jones."

He's already pulling a shirt on and heading down the stairs when Pop finishes his sentence. "Yeah, yeah, sure. I'm on my way."

It's only when he's there does he realize that he didn't think to ask if Jughead was okay. He must be, he reasons, if Pop called him and not his parents. The lights are bright, casting a glow on the empty parking lot. The interior matches the exterior. Only Pop stands at the counter, wiping its already-clean surface.

"Jug's over there," he nods to a booth near the fire exit, "fast asleep."

So he is. Hunched over his laptop, face to the keys, is Jughead. His beanie is pulled low over his hair and there's a half-finished plate of fries next to his hand. In all their years as friends, and the month-and-a-half of whatever this is, Archie's never seen Jughead leave a meal unfinished.

Pop watches him from his place at the counter. "It's only his second plate."

That, too, is new. It unsettles him more than he cares to admit. "He's going through some stuff." Archie can't tell if he's lying or not.

Pop shrugs and goes towards the kitchen. "Good luck. I couldn't seem to wake him."

It takes a special kind of persistence to be able to wake Jughead up. Or at least rouse him to some level of consciousness. He moves the laptop first, not wanting it to be caught in the crossfire. It's dead and there's no charger in sight. He must've not been planning on staying long. Gently, Archie prods Jughead. No response. Less gently, he pushes at his shoulder.

"Jughead."

There's a groan. He pokes him again. "Hey, Jughead, wake up."

One tired eye cracks open to look at him.

"Hey, Juggie." He can't help the endearment. "You awake now?"

Jughead pushes his hand off his arm where it had settled. He sits up, and pulls his hat off for one glorious, messy, second before jamming it back on. "I guess. What are you doing here?"

He's glaring, but there's an imprint from the keyboard left on his face so it's not very effective.

"Came to get you. You're chasing away customers." The joke falls flat when all Jughead does is gather his laptop and jacket from beside him.

He stands up, crowding into Archie's space. Archie backs up clumsily and watches Jughead stretch his hands far above his head. He cringes when he hears a pop.

Jughead laughs, not quite kindly, "Dude, how does that still gross you out?"

Archie shrugs. "You ready?"

Jughead shoots him a look before breezing past him. He waves a careless hand towards the kitchen window. "See ya, Pop, just put it on my tab."

Pop Tate nods and gives them both a smile. "Sure thing. Have a good night."

Jughead takes that as his cue to gun it out and down the street. He's got long legs, but Archie's faster and catches up quickly.

"Hey, not so fast, Pop made me pick you up and I'm not gonna let you get hit by a car just because we're.." He trails off, unsure.

Jughead laughs; sharp and hurtful. "I don't need you of all people worrying about me. Thanks, but I think I can find my own way home."

Archie puts up his hands in surrender. "Look. Just let me walk you home, alright?" It's too late to get into a not-quite an argument with Jughead.

They stare at each other. Or, rather, Archie stares while Jughead tilts his head and squints his eyes in an analytical fashion. As if Archie's motives are something to be questioned. As if they haven't been friends their whole lives.

"Fine." He exhales. "But you walk three paces behind. I don't want to be forced into interacting with you."

Now it's Archie's time to question. "When have I ever forced anyone into interacting with me?"

Jughead sighs and waves his hand in a haphazard gesture. "You've got this-" he pauses, "way about you. Like a magnet. It's infuriating."

"I'm like a magnet?"

"Yes you-" another gesture- "attract people." He stops then, his cheeks flushing in the dark light. "You're doing it again."

There's a bubble rising in Archies throat. "I'm attracting you?" This is toeing the line of something, but he can't tell what.

Jughead blushes deeper. "No!" He exclaims. "You're- ugh. Just. Three steps behind okay?" And he starts walking again, even faster this time.

With the way he can still catch the red on his face in the low light, Archie counts it as a win.

 

-

 

It's a week after Cheryl's arrest and the whole school's still aflutter. Archie can't walk down a hallway without hearing eight different theories. It's getting exhausting, the way people snicker and gather in groups. He thinks about Betty, and how some of their classmates theories include her, or her sister. Luckily, Veronica seems glued to her side, glaring at anyone who dares utter her name. Besides, it's not like Betty can't stand up for herself. In the past few weeks, Archie has definitely seen just how capable Betty is.

He's turning into the west wing towards History when he spots a familiar bag sitting by the exit doors. Its strap is caught inbetween the doors and the sight of it all alone turns Archie's stomach. He picks the bag up, freeing the strap, and checks its contents. The laptop appears unscathed, but this doesn't say anything for its owner.

Ignoring the late bell, he steps outside. There's not much, some graffiti, empty cans of pop, a garbage bin. He spots a familiar beanie close to his feet and picks it up. He dusts it off before folding it and putting it in his pocket.

The bin rustles and groans when the door shuts behind Archie.

"Uh, Jughead?" He makes his way over to the bin, peering over to see his (tentative) friend lying face up in a pile of bags. He doesn't look hurt, but Archie feels his jaw tighten at the sight.

"Hey, Arch, how's it going?" Jughead cracks a lazy grin, but his eyes remain shut. He's spread out like a starfish.

Archie takes a moment to appreciate the use of an old nickname. They've been on rocky terms up until this past week, and he's not gonna take anything for granted.

"Are you alright?" He looks alright, there's no blood that Archie can see, but dumpsters aren't usually a place you find a person. "How'd you get in here?"

It's not a particularly tall dumpster but he can't see Jughead taking off his hat and leaving his laptop half in and half out of the school.

Jughead opens his eyes then, and stares right up at Archie before saying, "I fell."

He's being annoyingly vague and Archie can feel his temper rising. "People don't fall into the garbage, Jughead."

Jughead props himself up on one arm. "They do if they were tossed in." He pauses. "And it's recycling."

There's a sudden pain between his eyebrows. It's the same one he used to get when he saw Jughead around town last summer, but was never fast enough to say hi. He rubs at it, trying to will it away. "Recycling, then. Who threw you in here?"

Jughead closes his eyes again, dropping back down to his starfish pose. "Look, Archie, can you forget about the who and just get me out of here? You've got History, don't you?"

He groans at the thought of trying to weasel a late slip out of the secretary. His interrogation would have to be put off until later notice.

He steps up onto a jut in the bin and extends his arms down towards Jughead. "Any time you're ready." He teases. It's good, to be at that point again. Where they can bicker without it having an underlying edge to it.

Jughead's grip is impossibly warm for someone who's been laying outside in a bin for a good twenty minutes, but Archie's more distracted by the way he grasps at his arms and heaves himself up over the edge of the recycling bin. It's graceless, and he totters precariously on the edge so much that Archie moves his hands from his arms to his waist without a second thought. Jughead's eyes bug out for a second before he jumps down. He pushes off the edge with too much force and it results in them bumping into each other on his way down. Archie stumbles, but tightens his grip so Jughead remains upright.

Even when he's steady Archie keeps his hands bracketed around Jughead's waist. Jughead's expression stays the same and he rotates between looking away, down, and directly into Archie's eyes.

He steps away, eventually, brushing at a stray piece of paper stuck to his shoulder. "Thanks."

Archie mimics him, taking a step back when the self-realization hits. He scratches at the back of his neck. "Yeah, no worries. What are friends for?"

Jughead's face twists into something akin to a smile. "Right. Friends."

There's something beneath the smile, and if this had occured before the summer, Archie would have pushed it. For now, he leaves it. He's content with whatever delicate relationship they have. Sort of.

He pulls the beanie out of his pocket, and he's going to just hand it to him when his brain functions disconnect from his movements and he finds himself slipping the beanie over Jughead's hair himself. He pushes it back, just enough, and feeling brave and kind of stupid he pulls a few strands of hair loose.

He's not sure why he did it. Or, he kind of is, but it kind of feels like something to push back until after school to think about, but he's pretty happy with the result. Jughead's looking up at him, eyebrows furrowed and mouth agape.

"Looks good." Archie says, flashing him a thumbs up before slipping back into the school and away from Jughead's critical eye.

-

His sundae is halfway to melted, and he's not actually that hungry, so Archie just ends up prodding at the whipping cream until it's a mangled mess.

He knows he looks pretty pathetic, but he sort of feels pathetic, so. His shoulders have been slumped since noon, when it all went downhill.

The day had started out alright. He woke up to the sound of Jughead's voice at his door, telling him to hurry up and get ready so he could walk Betty and him to school. The smile Jughead had given him before he left to go to his own locker was enough to keep Archie awake through his morning classes.

The smile had diminished when right as he was about to leave for lunch, the teacher had pulled him aside and told him in no uncertain terms that if he didn't grades his up, he could say goodbye to varsity.

There wasn't really anything he could say in defense, either.

"Sorry, the woman I (illegally) slept with might not actually be who I thought she was, and it's been pretty taxing" didn't really sound like it would fly.

The day had only gotten worse. With the way Jughead had disappeared at lunch, and then the way the Coach had looked at him with disappointment all practice, it was shaping up to be pretty horrible. And that was before he'd gotten home to face his dad.

An argument, a vague threat towards his guitar, and one slammed door later, he was sitting in Pop's. Alone.

Or maybe he wasn't. The door swung open, and in it stood Jughead. His laptop bag was slung over his shoulder and he was dressed poorly for the dreary weather. He didn't seem to notice Archie, but that was almost preferred. He wasn't sure if he wanted to be seen right now.

He's out of luck because Jughead swivels his head. His usual guarded expression is foiled by the way his mouth tilts up for a moment before he seems to remember himself and schools it once more. He saunters over, and his smirk only lasts until he gets to the table.

He takes one look at the sorry sight Archie must before sighing and collapsing into the seat across from him. "Guess I'm not gonna get much writing done tonight, am I?"

Archie shrugs, a miniscule amount of guilt making itself known.

Like magic, Jughead knows this. "Hey, I didn't mean it like that. You alright?"

He pulls Archie's marred sundae away from him and steals a bite. He grimaces at what must be by now a melted, lukewarm bite. "Wow, nevermind. I know the answer." He might not be Jughead, but Archie's still a teenage boy who consumes more than half his weight in junk food a day, it's not like him (or anyone else) to leave one of Pop's famous sundaes to melt.

Jughead looks at him and it really hits Archie just how wild this whole thing is. They haven't had a proper hang-out in months, have barely even spoken more than a day's worth of conversation to each other, and Jughead can still read him like an open book.

Jughead sighs again and fixes him with a no-nonsense stare. He looks exactly like his mother did when she scolded them for tracking mud in the house many years ago.

"Alright, pal. Since you practically reek of teenage angst, I'm going to treat you– just this once." He clarifies when Archie snorts a little.

"I didn't know writing a novel brought in an income, maybe I should try it."

Jughead inverts his pockets in an animated, dramatic way Archie hasn't seen in a long while. "That's where you're wrong." He waves at Pop, and Pop nods and begins shuffling around the kitchen. "I just have a very large tab running."

Archie's pretty sure the tab's been running since they were eight years old. Occasionally, Jughead would pay it off and then he'd say, "let's celebrate!" and rack it up again. Nothing's changed.

There's a look in Jughead's eyes, one that tells Archie that all his antics are solely for his benefit. Jughead hasn't been a goofball in months, and it's good to see him even considering the circumstances.

His bad mood is evaporating quickly though, and it's barely more than a tendril in his chest when Jughead kicks at his foot from under the table. He smiles when Archie looks up.

A plate of fries appears before them quickly, and a burger accompanies it. Jughead grabs three fries before Archie can even blink. "I thought we'd share," he says through a mouthful of fries.

Archie smiles, a real smile, and replies, "What else are friends for?"

Their smiles tighten at the same moment. "Friends" suits them now, but only to some degree. Before the summer, there was something building between them, and before Archie could put a name to it, it was gone. Now, with Jughead's leg intertwined with his own, it almost feels like he could pinpoint it.

Archie avoids it by eating his burger. Jughead takes fries, dipping them in the melted sundae. It's companionable and the neon lights from outside cast a pleasant glow.

Jughead breaks the silence by stretching and placing his hands facing upwards on the table. Open, inviting. "Feel any better?" He says when there are no more fries on the plate. Archie had maybe a maximum of five.

Archie nods, resting his hand on top of Jughead's. He's no longer slumped and the residual guilt from the fight with his dad is long gone. He smiles wide at Jughead, clasping their fingers together. "Yeah, much."


End file.
